Turning-Chapter 825

“From this moment on, seal off this carriage. House Hern will fully support the Cavalry and the Imperial Army until this situation is resolved. No one from House Hern will leave this place until then.”

As the soldiers murmured among themselves, the Duke of Hern burst into laughter, as if the whole thing was absurd.

“My dear Mayra... I must’ve let you grow up too ignorant of your place. I am the head of this house. Do you think a few mere soldiers can bind the feet of a duke? And even if you did manage to keep me here, what difference would it make?”

“It changes everything.”

With those words, Mayra looked down at her father with a frigid glare.

“The fact that the person who should take responsibility doesn’t turn away—that alone changes a great deal. Though someone who’s always stood at the back wouldn’t know that.”

On her way here after speaking ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) with Kanna, Mayra had been thinking about the Duke of Hern—the man she was supposed to call her father.

He was the only head among the four great ducal families who rarely stayed in the capital’s ancestral estate. Officially, it was for health reasons and to keep a close eye on the South, but even so, there were parts of it that didn’t add up.

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Previous Dukes of Hern had also spent time in the South to recuperate due to the hereditary short lifespan of the family. But none had shut themselves away as completely as the current Duke. And it wasn’t like he was actively handling southern affairs, either.

The Duke of Hern always stayed one step removed from everything. He’d watch from a distance like a man with no stake in anything, hiding his intentions until he suddenly struck with an unexpected blow when no one was prepared. That was his way.

His subtle, ambiguous, yet always self-serving methods were made plain during the imperial princess selection for Crown Prince Keillusa, when he sent his adopted daughter to back a predetermined candidate and profit from the arrangement.

People feared him because they never knew what he’d do. Mayra used to believe there must be meaning behind it all.

She tried to convince herself that the opinions of those who said the Duke had fulfilled his duty just by working to produce an heir for a family cursed with early deaths might be valid. She never forgot the fact that no matter how much she hated him, she needed his approval to become his successor. Only by becoming the heir could she realize her ambitions, and so she endured everything.

Her way—personally stepping in to solve every problem—always made her feel ashamed, as if it were immature and clumsy. She’d assumed her efforts amounted to little, always haunted by insecurity.

But after meeting the southern guests and enduring everything that followed, the doubts lingering in her heart had begun to clear.

The Duke of Peleta, Kishiar la Orr, had resolved problems that the Duke of Hern ignored for years—simply by stepping forward himself. He wasn’t embarrassed to act directly. Just the fact that the one in charge was present at the scene changed everything.

The Duke of Hern could have done the same. But he didn’t. Not because of some noble reason—but because he was hiding. Mayra saw it clearly now: her father had turned his back on everything and cloaked himself in safety to chase nothing but his own desires.

How could someone who had never once stood at the forefront be considered admirable?

He was... just a coward.

Unlike the Duke of Hern, who rejected her methods, Duke Peleta had shown her that her approach had value. That she was someone who could move all of the South. That she wasn’t clumsy—just different. No one else could understand how shocking and validating that was.

Yes, the Duke of Hern wielded tremendous power as head of the house.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

But for the past few years, the one who had traveled the South and worked for its people under the name of Hern—was Mayra.

To the Duke, she was probably nothing more than a disappointing child he couldn’t use when he needed her—a presumptuous girl who dared aim for her rightful position simply because she survived by chance. But to the southern people, Mayra was beloved. And she had always done her best to return that love.

Even those who disliked her had to admit she’d given her all to the South—so much that no one would be surprised if she became the next duchess.

It was time to show the weight of what she had built with her own two hands.

Standing on the carriage steps, Mayra looked around. Aside from the Hern family members, many others still remained in the area.

Most were ordinary people from the South who had come, hearts heavy, upon hearing of the young duke’s death. They didn’t know the details of the chaos or why they’d had to evacuate—but even now, with sleet pouring down, they couldn’t bring themselves to leave, because the funeral hadn’t ended.

They couldn’t even enter the sanctuary. They had no offerings to give. And yet they came to pray.

Mayra raised her voice toward them.

“Brave people who love the blue seas and rough deserts of the South. I am Mayra El Hern, First Princess of House Hern. I know many of you were shocked by the events that disrupted the funeral of Second Prince Ashlav.”

“What? That’s the First Princess, Lady Mayra?”

“It really is! I saw her once before!”

“What’s she saying?”

At first, her voice was muffled by the sleet. But as the murmuring crowd began to quiet, her voice grew clearer—ringing out with strange power.

“Right now, the Cavalry, Duke Peleta, and many others are risking themselves to handle the intruders and prevent further disaster. I, too—and Duke Hern, here with me—will do the same.”

“Mayra...!”

The Duke, seated inside the carriage, snapped her name like a knife. But Mayra didn’t stop speaking.

“We will stay here until everything is resolved and the funeral for Ashlav is complete. We promise to do everything in our power to ensure that no one is hurt or killed, so that Ashlav can be sent off properly.”

Her black mourning garments, torn and stained, fluttered in the wind. Her hair, a mess. And yet no one watching her thought she looked dirty or pitiful.

In that moment, she was the very image of a true successor to the South.

“But for that, we also need your help. So that Ashlav’s funeral does not end in loneliness or chaos, please stay until the end. Lend your eyes, your hands, even if only a little—to help us restore peace.”

After her impassioned plea, there was silence. But it was not a cold silence.

Then, from around the Hern carriages, came a roaring wave of support.

“We’ll help!”

“Tell us what to do!”

“We all know what the First Princess has done for Sharloin! There’s no way we’re leaving first! That’d be shameful!”

Most of the mourners didn’t even know exactly why they’d had to evacuate. But now, no one looked afraid.

The chaos settled, replaced by an intense energy. This was the first time the people had ever seen House Hern itself step forward in response to such a crisis. The impact was far greater than anyone could’ve expected.

Mayra turned from the cheering crowd to look at her father—who stared at her in stunned silence.

“You said a few soldiers couldn’t bind your feet, didn’t you?”

“......”

“Well, now you really can’t leave. Watch. Watch what I do.”

Under normal circumstances, a single word from the Duke of Hern could’ve overturned Mayra’s influence. But not now. These people may have been ordinary on the surface—but they were the South itself, the foundation of House Hern.

As the Duke’s face twisted into a grimace, Mayra slammed the carriage door shut without waiting for a reply. She leapt down the steps and ran toward the distant figures of General Gino and Kanna.

“The outer perimeter will be secured soon. If there’s anything else House Hern can do to help—just say the word!”

***

At the same time, outside the temple where many had already evacuated...

Kiole di Diarca was crouched in a corner, clutching his head in agony.

“Why... Why the hell do I have to be the one stuck here like this...?!”